


But there's no happy endings, not here and not now

by confidence_in_sunshine



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Gen, Mild descriptions of violence, Spellman Children Backstory, intrusive narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidence_in_sunshine/pseuds/confidence_in_sunshine
Summary: You may think that three children would lead pleasant lives, but that’s not how the story goes.





	But there's no happy endings, not here and not now

**Author's Note:**

> After rewatching ASOUE I felt very inspired to write a story about the three Spellman children, as I am certain their lives were filled with a series of unfortunate events - especially for Edward.
> 
> A big thank you to my beta miri_cleo!

  _This tale is all sorrows and woes._

* * *

 

It is often said that one cannot choose one’s family. This kind of thing is usually said at two in the morning by your best friend while they clutch an empty bottle of wine and try, with tremendous humour, to stay upright. And by said, I actually mean slurred and with a few “I loves you - yesh you - sssmuch” thrown in for good measure.

No matter the state of intoxication of people who say this kind of phrase, it is both true and false. One may not be able to choose their mother, or their father, or be able to choose the siblings that shall be born after them. But you can choose who to start a new family with. As I’m sure you know, people spend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to find that special person to start a new family with. Some even spend multitudes of money on advertisements placed in newspaper with very specific details on the very special person they would like to meet. Of course, in those circumstances it can be said that the meeting they have will be quite short and probably severely disappointing for one, or even both, parties involved. Especially if one of the aforementioned parties ends up murdered.

But that’s not how this story goes, because both shall end up murdered.

It all starts with a boy. This boy is seventeen, which can be a strange age. No longer are you sixteen and full of that overwhelming joy that comes after your dark baptism. And nor are you eighteen and ready to take on those Very Important Subjects that your father tells you will shape the rest of your life as witch. No, seventeen is the age where you float through classes listening to old witches talk about witch traditions in a monotonous voice of someone who has said the same thing day in and day out for the last one hundred years and does not plan to stop.

This boy, like so many of us, has a name. And that name is Edward Spellman. During school, he resides in a large room with other witches his age, but right now, it is the summer holidays and so he is back at home. The table at which he sits has been scrubbed clean and every item on it has been placed with care. With a tight smile, his mother passes him a cup of tea before returning her attention to Hilda.

Hilda is Edward’s youngest sister. She is six years old, permanently happy and has an inclination to sit in the garden and talk to the insects. Right now, their mother is trying to persuade her to eat her supper. There is specks of food in her blonde hair and all over her dress, and Edward knows their mother is just about ready to curse Hilda into the fires of hell. Children can be a bit like cats in these kind of situations: they will gladly eat a piece of string that they have found on the ground and tend to have a great enthusiasm for anything that wriggles. Then they will pout, yowl and wail about anything put deliberately under their nose to eat. What Lady Spellman should have done is mix the contents of little Hilda’s dinner and put it in a bowl next to the dog’s. Because, unfortunately, I can guarantee that Hilda would have gladly eaten it - along with the dog’s.

There is a huff from Edward’s right and he turns his attention to the girl seated next to him. This is Edward’s other sister. Her name is Zelda, and she is “very nearly ten, thank you very much.” Unlike his mother, and little Hilda, Zelda is pale and has long red hair in which she wears a pink headband with a large bow because she believes it makes her look more endearing. Edward is rather fond of his little sisters, no matter how different they all are. You would never catch Zelda in the garden as she’s always in the library trying to learn everything there is to know. And if she isn’t learning about spells and hexes, she is constantly reading about places she’s never been and all the marvellously exciting things that people do there. Edward knows she isn’t happy to be in this small town. But their father had had the opportunity here in Greendale to be a part of the Church of Night. And how could any witch resist such an opportunity? Zelda accepts this, because it’s for the church. Sometimes Edward gets anxious, feels the sweat prickle on the back of his neck when he thinks about how easily his sister will accept something if it’s for the Dark Lord, no matter how much she may dislike the notion.

And today marks the celebration of Litha - Summer Solstice. Edward, and his sisters, had helped their mother take fruit and flowers over to the Church of Night and had each lit a candle. After the sun dips below the horizon and darkness falls, Edward knows each day will become shorter and shorter until once more it was winter. But right now, he’s trying to enjoy the comfort of home, and he can’t help but smile as Hilda’s uncontrolled magic makes her dinner go spiralling across the table and splatter into Zelda’s lap.

It’s at this point that there mother gives up and sends them all upstairs to change, ignoring the protests from Zelda about her ruined dress. Edward mutters a quick spell and his sister’s dress becomes clean, but the expression on her small pale face is of murder and she gets out of her chair and storms upstairs in a fit of pique. You might think that Lady Spellman should have had a better handle on little Hilda and her disobedience should have been reprimanded, but the facts are these: it is instrumental during a witch's childhood not to chide them harshly when their magic begins to unveil itself. Hilda’s birth had been a difficult one, and the Spellman family had been a plethora of worries and concerns during her term in the womb. It had been an unholy blessing that both mother and child had survived the ordeal. And so little Hilda had been a true gift from Lucifer himself in the eyes of Lord and Lady Spellman. So, while it is clear that Lady Spellman is still vexed about the mess her youngest has made, it is nothing compared to the pride she feels that her youngest is expressing more magical manifestations.

This is of course does not sit well with Zelda, who until the moment of Hilda’s birth had been the darling little girl of the Spellman family. Zelda did not hate her little sister, but she resented her effortless charm when it came to their parents and her sunny disposition. She would keep these things to herself. Even though she is only young, she has learnt not to share certain things, not even with her brother. And she knows it was the Dark Lord’s will that her sister be born and that is something she will not question. That was a fact.

When Hilda and Edward finally come upstairs, Zelda has calmed somewhat - thanks to reading multiple lines in her Satanic bible. There is a small, apology from Hilda which is of course ignore by Zelda as she sits at her dresser and brushes her hair. Edward helps Hilda change into a clean dress, throwing Zelda an imploring look to behave in the mirror.

Tonight Edward’s parents are throwing a soirée - as I’m sure you know, a soirée is what people with far too much money and too little length of chin call a party. It supposed to be the evening celebration for the summer solstice, and soon the house will be filled with witches after the sun has set and the daily rituals completed.

When the night comes crawling in, the children are called downstairs to meet the members of the congregation. They smile politely and stand stock still by their mother’s side without a hair out of place. After an hour, Lady Spellman gestures to Zelda and with a small frown she takes Hilda’s hand and drag her upstairs to bed. Edward watches them go, wishing he too could escape into the safety and comfort of his room and lose himself in his books. He tries to keep a polite expression on his face as he’s swept up by his father and paraded around the parlour like some sort of show dog. A very arrogant man, and an important one, Edward is very much aware of the fact that his progression in the Academy of Unseen Arts is something to be proud of. But he doesn’t quite like the way his father spins words to make it sound as if he is the one that has been this marvellous influence on his son.

It’s a blatant lie. Lord Spellman doesn’t agree with half of Edward theories or his current ideas for the future. “Stick with tradition, my son,” is what Lord Spellman says. Edward is a clever boy and he knows something is inherently wrong. He doesn’t dare say it. He cannot tell his father, who would curse him to hell and back. His mother would pretend to go deaf and lunge straight for the bottle of gin that she thinks nobody knows about in the drawing room. And his sisters are far too young to understand. Zelda thinks the Dark Lord’s word is everything and follows their father around like a worshipping neophyte desperate for knowledge and approval. And Hilda wouldn’t know the Dark Lord if he showed up in all his unholy glory - unless he brought some unusual and exciting insect.

Of course he believes in the Dark Lord and his unholy power, but things have been happening that have him asking questions that nobody seems to have answers for. A curious boy will become a curious man, and Edward has this need to know not only the answer but also the explanation. Why? Why do we do these things? Of course, like his father says, it’s all down to tradition. But tradition is just another way of saying “we’ve always done things this way so we will continue to do things this way” and “don’t ask questions - it’s _tradition_.”

There is only so much Edward can take and he’s thankful when his father dismisses him to bed.

Leaving the parlour, he makes his way up the stairs and towards his room. As his feet drag along the carpet, he hears a sharp thud and then that brief, intense silence that can only follow when something Very Bad has happened. His feet falter and his whole body is tuned in to the sounds of the house. He can hear the music from the small quartet echoing from the parlour below, hear the tick of the clock at the end of the hall. The sounds pull him tighter as he waits. It’s been only a few seconds but it feel like a lifetime. And then all sounds rush in again until they blend as he breathes out. It must have been nothing. He is being too cautious.

When you are in danger, there is something that happens to your body. Edward doesn’t know this yet, but I’m sure you know, that when one is in danger your body goes into fight or flight mode. And that body of yours produces all manner of magical chemicals - yes, I hear you say, it’s science. But just because you can explain something, doesn’t mean it stops being magical. Bodies are magical. And what they produce in this fight or flight is called adrenaline. And when your body is pumping this around after your initial scare, you are prepared. But Edward has dismissed this as nothing more than a false alarm. So, when the scream comes hurtling out from behind the door to his sister bedroom, his body becomes confused and frightened. Add to that some real magical powers and well, as the comic books say, “ _boom!_ ”

The glass shatters in all the picture frames lining the hall and the hands of the clock go whirring as Edward trips over his feet in a hurried to effort to reach his sisters’ room. Trying to calm himself, a sweaty hand grabs the door and gently pushes it open.

I am sorry to tell to you that what Edward finds in his sisters’ room is not a sight I would normally want to describe. But since you are here, and it is my duty to tell this story, I shall continue.

There is blood, not only can Edward see drops of it on the carpet, but he can smell it. The scent seems to crawl up his nose and twist around his head until he can barely see. But while the scent isn’t pleasant, the sight of his youngest sister lying on the floor with half her head carved in is far worse. Without knowing it, his feet take him over to Hilda, her eyes are staring up and out at nothing. She’s so still, her eyes glassy that if wasn’t for the blood and the massive dent in the side of her small head she would look like a perfect doll.

“I didn’t mean to do it! Edward, it was an accident!” sobs Zelda. She has the poker in her hands, tears streaming down her face. “She was trying to touch my things while I was setting the fire and I forgot I was holding this and-and-“

Edward stops her and tries to get her to breathe. Sometimes he forgets that Zelda is only nine, she never acts it. But right now with her eyes staring up at him as her bottom lip trembles with the effort not to keep crying, she looks young and frightened. But there’s also that pleading look in her eye, the kind only children have. It’s the “you’re my big brother and I know you can fix this” look. It’s a look Edward cherishes because while the circumstance may not be ideal, knowing that his sister believes him capable of anything is quite something. And he doesn’t quite know it yet, but soon, his sister won’t look at him like that ever again.

“Zelly, give me the poker,” he says and she just nods. It’s a symbol of her distress to how little she protests when he asks, also because he knows she hates nicknames of any kind. “Good. Now, you are going to help me take her down the back stairs.”

As I’m sure you could guess - I wouldn’t presume you’d know, but forgive me if you do - it’s tricky navigating the corpse of a six year old through a large house while a party is in swing. However all of these guests are adults, and adults are very good at ignoring things - such as children, the elderly and the next door neighbours complaints about the lewd little gnomes you have in your front garden.

There’s is the occasional sniff from Zelda as she helps Edward pick up their sister. He gesture towards one of the candles in the room and tells her to grab it before they make their way slowly out of the room and onto the landing. A muttered incantation is said by Edward and the shards of broken frames zoom gently back onto the wall, vases become whole and candles once more spurt back into life. The clock begins it’s slow tick once more as the children make their way towards the door at the far end of the hall and pick their way awkward down the dark stairs. The door leads to a small antechamber and he gets Zelda to open one of the doors. It creaks open and the children step out into the night.

While it may be summer, the night air is cold and the ground wet underneath their feet as they make their way down the track towards the cemetery. They can both hear the sounds of the party still going on inside, the music slipping out through open windows and into the night. And there is the sound of laughter too, the clinks of glasses. There is something melancholic about the sounds of people having fun in the distance - such as when you hear children laughing. There’s an edge to it, something a little sinister that pulls at the mind.  It could be because you aren’t there and and part of the fun. Or. It could be when you were younger, and did hear those children laughing in the distance, you found out that what they were laughing about was you. Whatever the reason, the Spellman children didn’t find it comforting. They felt displaced, like a certain chapter of their life had now closed and a new one begun.

Edward makes his way towards the cain pit and puts Hilda down inside the wet earth. You might be thinking this is a strange and unusual sort of thing to do. Of course, most of the things that happen to the Spellman children can be described as both strange and unusual. Burying the corpse of their little sister in the family mortuary is not something most children do - unless you too come from a strange and unusual sort of family.

“Mother says we aren’t allowed in here,” comes the broken voice of Zelda. She’s still standing by the entrance of the cemetery. The candle in her hands is casting odd shadows against her face.

“Do you know why?” Edwards asks, grabbing a nearby shovel and carefully covering his baby sister with the dirt.

Zelda just shakes her head as she watches Edward. It’s not until he has finished and wiped his brow that he turns to her and holds out a hand.

“Come here.”

The internalised guilt on her face is easy to see, but Zelda finally settles on walking into the cemetery and takes her brother’s hand.

“This the Cain Pit,” says Edward. ”It’s the most fertile soil on Earth. It can bring her back, Zelda.”

“How do you know?” comes the question.

“I saw it happen,” says Edward. He shakes his head when Zelda asks more questions. She doesn’t need to know that their mother drank herself into oblivion for reasons Edwards doesn’t know but can only guess. She didn’t need to know Edward had to help his father put their mother in the ground. “Just trust me.”

Without another word he takes a worn packet from his trousers and pops a cigarette in his mouth. The end flares to life in the darkness, the smoke curling out and spiralling towards his sister.

“You’re smoking?” Zelda asks, following his lead as he sits down.

A non commital grunt from Edward and half a shrug offered for good measure. They sit in the silence, both trying to ignore the sounds of their parents party and their own thoughts.

It’s a good ten minutes later when Zelda speaks again.

“Are you really sure it’ll work?” she asks and Edward turns to look at her then.

His sister is sitting on a pile of earth, her nice dress ruined. Her eyes are on the pit, staring at it and she worries her hand in her lap.

There is the phrase “time flies when you are having fun.” As I am sure you know, it simply means that when one is having such a grand time, the time simply slips away unnoticed. But when things are so not fun, such as sitting in school listening to your math teacher explain the complicated world of algebra or listening to your grandmother describe every single new ailment that has befallen her, time tends to slow down. It can become oppressing, heavy and incredibly frustrating, like the weight of a very large coat with too far many pockets - all of which are filled with sand. This phenomenon is known as boredom. But what Zelda Spellman is experiencing now is not boredom, but fear. And fear is more like wearing a very large coat with far too many pockets - all of which are filled with venomous snakes and snakes that know how to undo a coat pocket.

The two children will sit outside on this cold midsummer evening and wait. And while it may be the shortest night of the year, it will be the longest night for Edward and Zelda. Because the fear will stretch the night out, pulling it thin and tight. And the cold tendrils of it will creep in and reach for them with clawed hands.

It will only be an hour later when the ground shifts and a small pudgy hand forces it way up through the earth. A shuddering breath escapes Zelda, but she doesn’t move, she watches as Edward gets up and helps pulls her sister out of the ground. Hilda looks confused and groggily tries to wipe away the dirt that is caked over her face.

“I’m hungry,” she says, coughing a little as a worm navigates its way through her hair. Hilda turns to Zelda. “Zel-da, I am hungry!”

With soothing words, Edward takes Hilda’s hand and starts to walk back towards the house. Before he leaves the cemetery, he flings the cigarette away and it lands at Zelda’s feet. She watches a moment as the end glows and trails of smoke flicker in the air before she gets up and stamps on it hard.

As I’m sure you know, smoke lingers. You can put the fire out but the smoke will billow and twine its way around leaving fragments behind. The smoke has made its way into Zelda Spellman’s memories. The smell of it will always be about this night, the first time she killed her little sister. And it will forever be a reminder that she’ll always come back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In the true style of writers everywhere, particularly fanfic writers, I'm very much making things up as I go along.


End file.
